Beyond that Bright World Lies Despair
by Rebel Paisley
Summary: The story was one with promise. Take two kids from bad homes and whisk them away into a loving family. Add a caring mother and father and happy endings should be guaranteed. Except in the real world the wicked witch is the one who gets the happy ending, and Hunter and Blake are the ones that have to figure out how to keep living. It's harder than it should be.


Beyond that Bright World Lies Despair

Disclaimer: I do not own Power Rangers. All characters mentioned in this story belong to Saban, and I am making no profit off of this. It is purely for entertainment purposes.

Warning: Some foul language, mentions of past child abuse, and murder.

Notes: Raw and unbeta-ed. All mistakes are mine. Title taken from the song "I Can See It" from The Fantasticks

Inspired by some points raised in the real vampire's story "My Brother's Keeper", regarding the Bradleys' past. I highly recommend the story if you haven't read it; it's an interesting take on the Ninja Storm team's dynamics. And, you know, romance and stuff.

* * *

-:-:-:-:-:-

* * *

Hunter didn't remember much from the period of time before his parents had adopted him. At least, nothing concrete anyway. Mostly it was just a haze of impressions, disjointed experiences shining for a brief second before moving on, of being hungry, tired, and bored, confused maybe. He didn't remember any solid paternal figures before the Bradleys, no adult he distinctly recognized as his, or he as theirs, which indicated either a certain amount of neglect or that he had been bumming off the generosity of whoever his relatives had known, and they- whoever his caretakers had been- had a level of decency that ended at providing a roof over his head.

This, of course, was purely speculation on Hunter's part as he had never made any efforts to investigate his life before his parents, but in either outcome, it was obvious that Hunter had lived the beginnings of his life mostly isolated from society.

It could have been worse, he figured. At least he didn't serve and somebody's punching bag, either physically or emotionally, and he may have gone hungry a couple of times but he had a coat for the winter and shoes without holes, and a place to sleep at night and someone (whoever they were) who said his name from time to time to allow him the illusion that he somehow existed, that his actions actually had ramifications on the lives of the strangers around him.

It wasn't a lot, but it was a decent an upbringing as one could get before being taken away by Social Services, so Hunter considered it a gift. It led him to his mom and dad in a stroke of luck so phenomenally rare Hunter couldn't help but send his thanks out to a god he didn't believe in for it.

It was the one time fortune had truly struck in his favor, so you couldn't honestly blame Hunter for being a bit of a pessimist from there on out. He had used up his life's allotment of luck; so really, it had to be downhill from there. It was only the natural progression of things.

There was one question Hunter posed to himself that he had never been able to answer, there were never enough facts, not enough to formulate a solid conclusion, which ultimately led to headaches and frustration. Hence why he didn't ask it anymore, though sometimes it would come unbidden, just, an innocent stray thought in the grand scheme of things.

Why had the Bradleys picked him?

Hunter had no idea. He also didn't care, he was just glad they had. It was his one true gift.

Upon first meeting the entire Bradley unit, most people assumed that Hunter was a biological son and Blake the adopted blacksheep, from generosity and goodwill, or whatever. It was the fair skin going on, Hunter's dirty blond hair enough of a distant connection to his mother's much paler locks, and sure, he could see the resemblance if one felt like making lazy assumptions based on not using their brains, but people only tended to make that mistake once.

Hunter had always taken his duties as the older brother seriously, even when he had barely known Blake. Blake was his person, his human being to keep an eye on and protect and make feel wanted. Blake was to never feel like he might as well not be there, that he was part of the background, that he was nothing. Blake was Hunter's brother, and as foreign as the concept was to the older Bradley at the time, he figured out the gist of defending his sibling's honor.

If he didn't look adopted, then he would just make his attitude reflect the difference so the strangers wouldn't assume anymore, so that he and Blake would both obviously be the odd man out.

Of course, in the world of four and five year olds the entire plan probably wasn't nearly so self aware, so coherently clear on the motivations and reasoning, but it was the best Hunter could figure had happened. It was also the way his parents had told it, years later, when Blake and Hunter were suffering through a petty argument of whatever the hell middle schoolers argued about, to demonstrate their camaraderie (because if Hunter acted snarky Blake just acted extra sweet, as though to compensate, to silently explain that Hunter was just having an off day, they were both like this, _really_, which might have very well cemented the way by which they operated today).

-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-

It was how they had lived. It was their survival mechanism because Hunter _could_ act out to put Blake on a pedestal and Blake could be everybody's best friend if it redeemed Hunter. By age six Blake, on the smaller end of his age range (even then), could win the affections of anyone he wanted to in about five minutes, going from an amiable associate to treasured confident in no time flat, with a shy smile and eyes that wreaked of nothing but eager honesty.

The genuineness of it…varied, Hunter would guess, based on Blake's disposition. Initially it had been an act, a way he had to play in order to counterbalance Hunter's gruffness. The blond could see, even anyone else hadn't, that it wasn't how Blake would have done things, if he had the choice.

In the beginning Blake had shied away from anything that had even the slightest possibility of bringing him attention, he would have hidden if he could and the rest of the world would have let him.

Mom and dad must have seen that too, though they never openly talked about it. All the times that Blake would wedge himself away somewhere; in the bottom of the coat closet, under the couch in the living room, up on the eave above their bedroom window, places where he was safe and out of sight, their parents had to have known. At first they let Blake have his moments, allowed him his quiet retreats as they settled into life as a family, learning all the ways they moved around each other, how they were supposed to coexist.

-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-

When they started finding a rhythm, when it had become clear that no one from their lives _before _was coming back to get them, when the tense waiting for the other shoe to drop had mostly evaporated, mom and dad moved in. It started with mom, who would lead Hunter to a nice spot close to Blake's chosen hiding place. They'd settle in (and it would bewilder Hunter, to have this, she'd hold his hand and look at him and _smile_) and mom would talk, voice a blanket of warmth, calming in a way that was never suspect, never less than utmost sincere.

Experience and time might have tarnished Hunter's memories a little, but despite the obvious bias, he couldn't help but think his mom had been the queen of motherhood. Next to ninja-ing, it was undoubtedly one of her greatest skills.

So mom would talk and stroke Hunter's hair - which was weird and strange but he grew to like it almost instantly, he loved it – and she would weave a story like it was nobody's business. It was common fairy tales mixed with Disney movies and comic book heroes and everything between, eventually leading up to ninja history (not that Hunter and Blake would figure that out until they were like, a solid eight, but whatever, his mom was _awesome_).

Story time would end after an hour, much to Hunter's disappointment, but he didn't complain. And sometimes he would obediently follow his mom off to help with some chore and sometimes he would stay, duty-bound because of a knowing glance to Blake's hiding place, and he would wait with his brother. Because even if they weren't talking, even if Blake was pretending not to be there, he didn't have to be alone.

Sometimes Blake would invite Hunter to join him in his hiding. He'd never actually ask, he put away that friendly facade he plastered on for strangers because it was just them, and when it was them he could be Blake, who was shy and stared at the ground like if he looked higher the world would burn him. Shy-Blake would hold out a hand wordlessly and Hunter would take it without a question.

Later, they would joke about their joint failure to grasp the idea of hide and seek, but back then it had been a safety blanket.

You would think, because it was a logical thing to think, that this newest development would have worried their parents. That they were regressing by way of disappearing children, but his mom and dad had simply seen it as a sign of progress. Soon after it was dad spinning the fairy tales, trading off with mom, or sometimes it would be both of them and they'd take turns, mom's soothing tones mixed in with dad's confident, eager bursts, and story time was made that much better.

Blake didn't always ask him to come though. Hunter didn't take it personally.

Okay, so there was the _possibility _he might have sulked like, the first time it had happened, but after that Hunter decided to be proactive. He didn't wait for mom or for dad to take his cue, instead he sat down/perched near wherever Blake had tucked himself away and started weaving a tale of his own. And when that failed (because let's face it, Hunter wasn't the most creative guy at the time) he started babbling on about the Power Rangers, because they had just up from out of nowhere and fought_ aliens_ and it was so incredibly _awesome_.

At some point in the middle of his rant mom and dad had entered the scene with amused expressions, sharing one quick look before crowding around Hunter, challenging his theory on how the red ranger was the _coolest _guy ever.

His mom thought the blue one had real potential, the back stabber, and Hunter was about to passionately argue this when a small head poked out from under the couch, tentatively chiming his (clearly unhelpful) agreement.

Traitors, the lot of them.

Instead of treating it like the phenomenal life achievement that it was for their messed up family, instead of smiling and cheering and congratulating, Hunter had glowered, _glared_ and Blake, the little _sneak_, shrugged innocently, to the laughter of their parents.

Eventually their speaking-near-Blake-hiding chats became a little more two-sided, with Blake venturing beyond the safety of his hidey holes to chime in his two cents on the good days.

Some days were not so spectacularly lucky, but no one ever complained on those occasions, and the day that Blake had crawled out, voluntarily, and snaked his way into mom's lap had been a anniversary he and Hunter still celebrated to this day.

Story time was never abandoned. Not even when they grew older and "out of" the suggested age range for such childish things.

Story time could not be replaced.

Not even on those cold, lonely nights when despair weighed upon them as heavily as the rest of life's injustices, not even when they were desperate to recreate the magic, to latch onto something from the sacred time _before_.

They failed, when it was just the two of them. The few times further down the road, the times when they'd work up the courage to label their previous attempts as "too soon" or "too shell-shocked" and they'd try again, all bravado and mule-headed stubbornness because how hard could it be, it was just _talking_, and then they'd fail again. And again. Their conversations too full of the habitual pauses where they waited for input that was never going to come again.

Three tries, then they stopped.

It could never be replaced.

-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-

Hunter wasn't sure what his parents had been thinking, adopting him and Blake. The process of adopting in itself was not entirely so mysterious, of course; his parents were kind. Memory and distance might have raised their grandeur some but the Bradleys had always been Hunter's utmost example of human decency. They were the best, and not just because they were his, or because they had picked him, or they paid attention to him; it was because by all comparison, by every measurable scale one could possibly fathom for depth of character you could possibly measure, his parents exceeded it and then some.

Blake always scoffed when he mentioned it, muttering something about horrible biases, but he would finish his protests with a nod, and they would say no more of it.

So... adoption. Not a surprising generosity from the Bradleys.

Just, why them?

They must have actively sought out the must tough-luck cases, maybe, but then again as bad as Hunter had it he knew there were some much worse off than him, that emotional (with the occasional physical and whatnot) neglect was the lesser sin than say, outwrite abuse or abandonment.

Sometimes, by comparison of the history Blake rarely spoke of, Hunter felt unworthy of his parents attentions, like he wasn't damaged enough to justify it, and he would push Blake further into the spotlight so he could be loved, because he deserved it more, he needed it more.

That was more true later in their childhood than it was at the start, because Hunter was a greedy little bastard when he first met the concept of attention and smiles and people there just for him, for him and it was amazing.

When he got older he would try to pull back, to play the stoic elder sibling, but his mom always knew. She would laugh at his attempts at aloof apathy and tug him along, blithely ignoring his defenses, his protests, and showering he and Blake with equal, loving affection.

Hunter missed her so much he had to remind himself to keep breathing, sometimes. Like he would be struck with this solid shock of loss that he would freeze, just longing so much, and then the next breath would be harder and desperate enough that it hurt his lungs, sucked in deep and quick because the world was still turning and he needed to move with it.

He missed his dad.

No one would know, by how little he ever spoke of him, but Hunter missed his dad like hell. His dad had been an anchor, a model of humanity to which Hunter could aspire. If he was at a loss, if he wasn't sure what to do next or what was right or what was wrong it didn't matter because he had a steadfast example he could follow after easily. With his dad, Hunter was never lost. With his parents, Hunter could always find his way.

Their deaths were a vicious reminder of how dependent Hunter had become. They had left too soon, he hadn't learned enough, he wasn't _ready_ for this, just to be his own person. He wasn't ready for that! He only had what, six years, seven, to get his feet under him? That _wasn't enough_. Hunter had too much baggage, he was too broken, he wasn't ready, he wasn't ready, it wasn't _fair_-

But he was older. Not by a lot, but he was older.

And Blake would be pissed if he ever said it aloud because he wasn't a tag-along, he wasn't helpless, he was Hunter's _partner_, his equal, and he didn't need to be babied. They would share the burden of their grief as comrades, keeping everything open and real because they were all they had left. It was just them now.

That was how it should have been, but Hunter was irrational and hurting and there was no one to stear him away from feeling like less, from feeling like Blake deserved _more_, so he took the bullet as much as Blake would allow him. They had both _seen_ the- their parents, after they had- so there was no way he could have gotten through it without the amount of trauma and grief necessary from such horrors, but as soon as he could, he moved on.

Hunter was the one that swiftly facilitated their integration into Sensei Omino's life, he was the one that discovered motocross as the ultimate thrill-seeking distraction, he was the one who battled his nightmares into unwilling suppression so he could coax Blake through his, he was the one who was mean and gruff to ward people off so Blake could have space. So that Blake could have the option of warming up to people later when he finally needed him. Distance without the drawbacks. Hunter did what he could because he was the leader now.

And if he still cried into Blake's shoulder on what would have been their father's birthday or if his hands got shaky whenever an elder woman with fine, blond hair was nice to him and it was too wrong, it wasn't _right_ and Blake latched on to steady his fist, then Blake was kind enough to Hunter's ego to not mention it. Hunter might be a bit thick sometimes but he got his brother's message, even if Blake hadn't said it.

They were partners. Equals.

Blake still cried more than he did , or, more than Hunter allowed himself to, and Hunter's occasional forays into surly bitterness became more frequently employed. Against their parents' hard work and effort, they reverted back to how they had been in the very beginning.

Maybe it was inevitable, but Hunter never thought about it much. It was how they had to survive.

Though he thought of their loss constantly, Hunter had to force himself not to think about his actual parents too much. What they would have done in his shoes, how they would have felt about what he and Blake were doing. He couldn't handle the weight of their inevitable disapproval, because he had to be failing, he _had to_, there was no way he could make up for two missing parents, he was barely qualified to be an older brother.

The constant mantra of _not good enough, not good enough, never good enough_ had been a steady companion throughout all Hunter's life. Maybe it was one of the reasons he had so easily believed Lothor when the _evil space ninja_ had pointed out potential parent-murderers who weren't, you know, _him_.

You would think something like that might be the tiniest bit suspicious.

-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-

So here's a hypothetical situation.

Guy rains down hellfire and brimstone, evil army of what is _distinctly _bad guy henchman flailing eagerly in his wake, destroys the place you'd come to know as your home over the last five years (because the other place had been sold to a new family after the blood had been scrubbed away, blissfully unaware of the memory of two young boys that had run back from ninja training on breathless excitement, only to have it turn to something so much worse).

There's havoc and mayhem with an added dash of kidnapping surrogate-dad and the only other friends you had ever come to know, and the guy responsible looks nothing less than pleased at your misfortune, because he's evil, and then he takes a moment to step completely out of character to offer out some helpful advise.

Would this seem legitimate to _you_?

Would it, after you had been given a very powerful tool that _most_ evil world conquerors did not want to go up against? Would it, after all that destruction, all that kidnapping, all of _that_ and the guy that he pointed you to, the one who was supposedly responsible for this gaping hole in your life, had three Power Rangers of his own, _good guys_, backing him up?

Hunter and Blake had, despite the overwhelming evidence that they shouldn't.

Perhaps that was _why_ they had believed Lothor in the first place.

They knew, because they weren't idiots, that their parents had been murdered by a fellow shinobi. Upon reviewing the perfectly decent candidate of _evil, murdering ninja_ before them, there was still the undeniable fact that their parents didn't have any defensive wounds on them. The house hadn't been trashed. There had been no signs of forced entry, the scene had been as comfortably lived in as it had been when Blake and Hunter had left for training. The weathered paperbacks were still strewn across the coffee table and the mountain that was Hunter and Blake's backpacks and winter coats, scarfs, gloves as chaotically a mess as it always was and mom's vases filled with the African Lillies still front and center on the kitchen table, innocently elegant despite the broken bodies lying in just the other room.

His parents had known their killer. Had trusted them.

Had been promptly betrayed by them.

Sensei Omino had never given the details of the quietly thorough investigation he had run, had never so much as momentarily dropped his poker face whenever Hunter would badger him for answers, would search, desperate for some knowledge that he could anchor himself to. He probably suspected Hunter would get too wrapped up in revenge if he was ever given a target (a fact Hunter had never once tried to deny because there would be some killing, and it would not involve Blake, but it would _happen_).

No matter what tactics Hunter used, no matter how skillfully subtle or up front his demands were, Sensei Omino would give him nothing.

But even that was enough.

Silent-nothing combined with no missing Thunder Ninjas, no punishments delivered, no persons secreted away to serve out their penance in the middle of the night, that meant something.

Sensei Omino hadn't found the killer. They could have carried out their crime and gone about their lives as though it was just a simple errand, hiding in plain sight like the vindictive bastards they were, as the two broken Bradley boys wept for a tragedy that had been about as inconvenient as a milk run.

Hunter _might _have started up his own private investigation after six months with no answer, his own file he refused to be ashamed of, no matter how many times he'd have to start over, Sensei Omino and his look of perpetual disappointment and sorrow having destroyed the last batch of clues. Hunter needed to let go, to move on, he would say. Hunter needed to be strong for his brother, to trust that Sensei Omino would do right by his parents with as thorough an investigation as possible.

But for all Hunter knew, Sensei Omino could have been the one that put that knife in his mom's neck, so neither of them were surprised when Hunter didn't give up his new hobby.

Trust issues, Hunter had so many of them because the killer could be anyone. The only person who was safe was his brother and Blake wasn't suspicious enough, was too overcome with grief to realize it was an inside job.

Hunter was cautious enough for the both of them.

Blake would call it paranoia, but either way, it got the job done.

Yes, Lothor was an evil son-of-a-bitch who had nothing to gain from fessing up to murder, but all the pieces he laid out before the two Thunder ninjas had made perfect sense. The reason why Sensei Omino had never found any suspects in the Thunder Ninja Academy, why Hunter's parents would have let someone in, why they wouldn't have started to fight back until it was too late, it all added up. The Head Sensei of a neighboring academy, that was nothing to scoff at. That had to be an important meeting, clearly requiring discretion, so they wouldn't have told anyone.

Sensei Kanoi as the perpetrator was a perfect fit if you really started to look at it, with only the minor detail, a mere trifle, really, not falling into the equation.

What the hell was his motive?

What could Hunter's parents have done, what sort of misdeeds could they have possibly committed that could have cost them their lives? Sensei Kanoi was a good guy, he was on their side; him deciding murder was the most justified course of action was about as likely as say...him setting out to conquer the Earth.

Just as an example.

And their they had Lothor. That was when they caught him in his lie because there was no motive, there was no reason, it was all a load of bull. It was Lothor latching onto the Bradleys' grief and hatred and trying to kill two birds with one stone, setting them against the Wind Rangers so Blake and Hunter could do his dirty business for him, so that half of the Earth's defenses would be shattered in one fell swoop leaving him, the evil son-of-a-bitch in question, with little more than two probably-exhausted Thunder Rangers standing between him and his victory.

It was so stupidly obvious Hunter almost didn't share that annoyed look with his brother, the brief argument that said he would go for the throat if Blake would distract the others, no seriously Blake, he had this, _he had this_.

And then they didn't because that was the same moment where they jointly realized that if Lothor's story was false and he truly _was _responsible, if he had been the one to arrange it all, then either his infiltration skills were so _damn _phenomenal not even Sensei Omino could detect his fowl play, or...

Or Lothor was a person his parents had trusted.

They couldn't, they _wouldn't_, that wasn't _them_ so it had to be-

It had to be Sensei Kanoi.

It had to be, and Lothor was allowing them to hit first because it worked to his benefit and as much as that irked Hunter, shook him to his core, he _had_ to take down his parents' killer. There needed to be justice.

There needed to be _something_.

-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-

When they had discovered how thoroughly they'd been played, when they had the brief glimpse of their parents ghosts and it wasn't enough, _why couldn't they talk about something else besides their murder,_ Blake and Hunter hadn't said anything. The worst had been confirmed.

The blond couldn't even pretend the Lothor-as-master-infiltrator could possibly have merit when they knew Omino was better, way better. Any chance at fowl play would have been spotted instantly, that was a guarantee Omino prided himself on. Nobody messed with his people, and if they did, they sure as hell weren't going to come out of the situation unscathed. There would be recompense for their misdeeds, carried out to the severity, or beyond, of what they had already dealt out. Sensei Omino's dedication to those under his protection was the stuff of legends.

All these years...Hunter had been so damn certain that Sensei Omino had missed something, that there was a hidden clue some place where his godfather was so set in his ways he would never find it, that the years and _years_ of training he relied on trapped Sensei Omino from this subtle conspiracy just out of his reach. Hunter thought his fresh eyes, his innovation, his _desperation_ was better, that if he just kept trying until he had nothing left, if he bullied his way through dead ends eventually he would discover enough pieces to put the mystery together and find a way. Hunter had been _that_ goddamn cocky. That arrogant.

He never thought Sensei would lie to them.

He should have, he should have known no one was _that_ good at infiltration, he should have battled down his grief to notice the few uneasy shinobi that his parents had considered _friends- _no Blake, it isn't paranoia, it's _truth_- at his parent's funeral before they disappeared altogether, transferring to other academies or abandoning the the ninja lifestyle for less voilent persuits.

Sensei Omino had said they were overcome with grief. That they had realized life was too short.

More lies.

Their parents had trusted Lothor.

That trust killed them.

-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-

The one apartment complex that had no problems being paid in cash (and didn't bother raising so much as an eyebrow in question to the possible ages of its newest tenants), could best be described as little more than a shit hole, located square in the middle of skid row. Pathetically enough, it wasn't the worst place Hunter had lived. Based on Blake's subdued shudder as they stood in their new apartment's threshold, he knew he wasn't the only one reliving memories of early childhood. Oh to be home again, home again, jiggety-jig.

It came unfurnished, with dirty shag carpet that had seen better days and scuffed up linoleum tiles in what could be described as the kitchen area. There was a constant smell of mildew that could _possibly_ correlate to the numerous water stains decorating the ceiling, indicating a leaky roof left continuously unattended, and if it wasn't mildew it was cigarette smoke, somehow ingrained into the carpet from prolonged years of abuse.

Yes, it was a dump. The windows had been neglected so long it seemed like there was a permanent layer of grainy brown filth that filtered out the outside world, the water pressure was shitty and the heater wouldn't give you the time of day if you were freezing to death, and the air conditioner was a temperamental and vindictive beast, only deigning you worth the effort every once in awhile. Still, it worked for them. Because there was water when they needed it and walls all around them, there was a roof over their head and a stove that, while finicky, worked, and a fridge, and a bathroom. It wasn't the best, but it was theirs.

And honestly, it was the most they deserved, after everything.

Blake, as though sensing his thoughts, gave Hunter with a quick, disapproving frown before disappearing into the 'bedroom' area of the apartment, looking for a place to stash what little gear they had left. It was basic outdoor survival stuff; two packs nicked from one of the many equipment caches the Thunder Academy had hidden along the coast. They had been staying on Lothor's ship after the academy was destroyed (_by Lothor,_ just as a stinging reminder of some wonderful incompetence), and after their team-up with the Wind Rangers (stupidly oblivious bastards that they were) Hunter and Blake had taken to the wilderness for some soul-searching.

Or so went the excuse.

Honestly, they were just trying to regroup themselves, to see what needed to be done.

They went back to the wasted Academy grounds for what had to be punishment's sake, like they didn't know it would be a vast track of nothingness where their "home" used to be. They stayed for longer than they should have, wasted an evening to early day waiting to see if anyone had escaped, if anyone was hiding.

If they were, they kept to the shadows. Hunter didn't begrudge them this, mostly because the unlikely idea of someone escaping made him feel better.

At this point, he took what wins he could get.

From there he and Blake had looked for their personal hidden stockpile, the one they and Sensei Omino had created should the worst happen.

True, Sensei Omino had been labeled as both of their godfather whenever the adoption had been completed, but there was always a chance for the system to fail. For someone at school (real school, the one that taught math and science) to get a little too imaginative and nosy and decide an Academy wasn't a suitable place for two boys to grow up. Too many bruises never made anyone happy (though motocross was supposed to help with those excuses, along with the well-practiced phrase of _"Boys will be boys"_), and if worst came to worst, Blake and Hunter needed a way out.

If there was one thing Hunter was desperately certain of, it was that he would put his life down before he let either Blake or himself be taken back by child services again. Forget it, they had their shot. They had already been adopted into a real family, they weren't going to get that chance again, and they sure as hell wouldn't get placed together. Sensei Omino was smart enough to recognize that code. Because of it, he made the safehouse.

Sort of. It wasn't really a house.

More of a storage unit among many storage units, but it had the essentials. Cash - enough to get them by for awhile, if they were careful- clothes, for both of them, copies of pictures and keepsakes that neither of them would have thought to tuck away that Omino had stubbornly put in there. There were folders full of papers that would be enough to get them into any school, and plans that Omino had updated on nearby shinobi who could help, along with burner phones with prepaid minutes and fake ids putting them firmly at age eighteen, if anyone started snooping too close.

Apparently, Sensei had also taken the liberty of supporting them with two bikes, 250s, parked innocently next to two duffle bags Hunter _knew_ were packed full of second-hand riding gear, familiar helmets and worn out pads an obviously new addition since their last visit to the storage unit.

It solved the mystery of Sensei's warm smile of weeks ago, playfulness dancing in his eyes as he smugly offered out the potential of a surprise, knowing Blake and Hunter would drive themselves mad trying to figure out what this mystery could possibly mean. Omino had been positively _gleeful_ that week, smirking at the frustration of his two normally calm wards.

New bikes. Hunter should have realized that earlier, but it had seemed like such a large and unnecessary expenditure that he couldn't even hope for it.

But that was Sensei Omino, he never played the cards you expected him to.

The bikes stayed there, for now, along with the rest of the riding stuff. Everything else was shoved into sturdy canvas bags until they came to rest in a ratnest of an apartment, empty space spanning in all directions while the remaining Bradleys tried to figure out what was their next move.

-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-

Thankfully the next few steps in their life plan were entirely practical, moves to ensure their continued survival that didn't require the burden of emotional investment.

With an address secured Hunter got to work getting him and Blake enrolled into school in Blue Bay Harbor. He personally might have thought it was a waste of time, with money being the more pressing issue at the moment, but education had always been something his parents had taken very seriously, and he had already screwed up enough on their account to throw in that towel too. He and Blake would figure something out, but for now school was a definite thing. They had already missed enough.

The principal was surprisingly accepting of the tale of two emancipated minors going through life on their own. The story Hunter sold was that they had come here in search of riding sponsors (which they would do, later), knowing they had a better shot here on their bike of choice than anywhere else, but also sure that school couldn't be neglected. He mimicked a few of his mother's favorite phrases on how they couldn't limit themselves, that it opened up so many options, it was so important, they couldn't just call it quits. Even it if was easier.

No ma'am, not these two, they had sense in their heads.

It took him about twenty minutes to get her wrapped around his finger and half an hour more to work out a modified schedule for the two of them. No electives, nothing but the core classes, and because their (fake) transcripts took care of all the extra electives they would need, Blake and Hunter could get off by lunch. Everybody won.

All it had taken was an hour of choking out the words of his mother, wielding her ideals as a tool for his exploitation. Making profit from what had been lost.

Hunter didn't sleep that night.

The times he tried had ended in nightmares.

-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-

"Why won't you come back?!"

The shouting had never answered, not even when Hunter had been going on for hours and his voice became nothing more than a few desperate rasps, dry throat swallowing down bitterness with what little moisture there was.

"_Come on!"_ Hunter continued, glaring down the length of the cave, in the mountain filled with spirits that would no longer talk to him. "Just, _say_ something!"

They had, before, and Hunter didn't know if it was because the few pitiful shards he had smuggled away from Watanabe's son could never hope to convey the full power of the Gem of Souls or if it was because his parents had nothing to say or if it was because he had been so _damn stupid_, that he was just as pathetic now as he had been when he was _four_, except now he had an attempted-murder under his belt and rage and frustration and so very much bitterness.

Maybe his parents had already said their piece. Maybe there _wasn't_ anything else.

Maybe Hunter was supposed to be haunted by the questions he couldn't answer, maybe the reward for vengeance was this hollow feeling of confusion, of lack and hurt and _wanting_.

The punishment was silence.

"Come on Hunter," Blake muttered, voice mocking loud against the stark quiet of the mountain. "Let's go get some sleep."

Not _"Let's go to the apartment" _and never _"Let's go home"; _Blake's suggestions always centered around an action they could achieve so they could feel productive and never bothered mentioning minor details like location.

That kind of stuff was irrelevant.

"Okay," Hunter mumbled. He even managed a shaky nod.

It was the least he could offer his younger brother, who, despite never being invited to these one-on-nothing conversations, always managed to find his way towards Hunter's shouting matches. He'd wander in, silent, sticking to the mouth of the cave, keeping vigil and allowing Hunter his peace to vent where he could.

Hunter used to think that beyond the annoyance of being purposefully left out, Blake's presence was a result of hope. That maybe one day the souls of their parents would visit again.

Eventually Hunter would figure out he was wrong.

-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-

They would use the sleeping bags until they could get proper beds, or at least air mattresses. The rest of the furniture would come from thrift shops and curbs where people dumped them, but even that stuff could wait for now.

Blake got them back their jobs at Storm Chargers and Kelly didn't waste any time hiring them back on to ride for her, meaning more money, and less tightened belts all around.

The jobs also offered them the opportunity to spend time with the Wind rangers, as Dustin (_dipshit_) was also and employee and the others (_naive, spoiled_) seemed to have an abundance of free time they chose to appropriately waste there. The reasons for this were beyond Hunter's understanding. There were other places with TVs and study nests (though Kelly installing one of those in her store was another mystery Hunter's mind refused to grasp), places that weren't, you know, _retail stores_, but it never seemed to bother them.

If anyone asked (not that they would, because apparently the Winds were smart enough for _that_), Hunter thought they should use some of that spare time for training.

Blake had argued that no amount of skill would have been able to combat his and Hunter's motivations, that they never would have stood a chance, that they really weren't as easily defeated as Blake and Hunter had made them out to be.

To Hunter, it just sounded like a lot of excuses.

He was stuck with these people, they might as well _attempt_ to stop sucking so much.

That wasn't a lot to ask for.

(Even if he himself was nothing more than a failure).

-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-

"Was it something that we did?" Blake asked, interrupting their nightly ritual of pretending to be asleep for the other's benefit.

It took Hunter a few seconds to organize his thoughts into a coherent answer, attempting to discern exactly what his brother was implying so he could give Blake the response he needed. Normally Hunter would go to his gut when Blake got that particular tone of voice, but that was too busy scoffing and withholding the wave of sarcasm threatening to run wild, _of course _it was something they had done. _Of course _the answer had to be their fault, it had to, there just wasn't any other answer.

Blake took his conflicted silence as a prompt and moved forward, shifting so that he was on his side, staring at Hunter's profile.

"I mean, do you think like..._we_ caused them to go dark-side?"

"You shouldn't say that Blake," Hunter automatically snapped, trying not to dig into the deeper implications of Blake's statement. To this point, there had been an unspoken rule about the state of their parent's allegiance, something they agreed for sanity's sake to never be addressed. It was hard enough as it was, there was no point in torturing themselves with mindless speculation-

"You don'g get it Hunter," Blake sighed, not annoyed or depressed or even weary, but that certain kind of frustrated that was aimed solely at himself. "I didn't come from a good place-"

"You think my life was sunshine and roses before?" He shouldn't be this short with Blake but he couldn't- they shouldn't be talking about this, but here they were doing it anyway.

Story of their lives.

"That's what I mean Hunter." There was collusion in his voice, a lightness that came from confirmed agreement because Hunter could see it. "We came to them pretty messed up, what if we..."

He draws it out into a dramatic silence, because he would, he was _Blake_ and Blake was all about the showmenship of it, that there was a certain amount of respect to be given to the build up of any delivery.

"Spit it out Blake," Hunter snapped, finally tearing his gaze away from that certain spot he had been trying to glare a hole into the ceiling, facing his brother with the full wrath of his disdain. "Are you saying that the only way they could cope with adopting two such screwed up children was to abandon all human decency? Do you even _remember_ them Blake?"

"That's not what I meant an you know it," Blake hissed, rigid posture camouflaging the subtle tinge of uncertainty hidden in his words. "I mean...you always wondered too, right? Why they picked us?"

"It's because they were kind," Hunter reminded, forcing his tone to be cool even though his throat was closing up at the thought. "You know that Blake."

"They could have been pretending," Blake insisted in a whisper. "That's a great cover for them, right? Adopt two kids that don't know what a good home is, how would we know if they were genuinely altruistic or not? We'd never had _anything-_"

"Stop it, Blake," Hunter muttered, fist tightening in his sleeping bag until it quaked with tension.

"I mean, who would suspect them? It's the _perfect_ way to disguise being an evil shinobi-"

"_Stop it,_ Blake."

"-and making Sensei Omino our godfather? Isn't that just the icing on the cake?"

"_Shut up, __**Blake**__."_

Hunter didn't warn him again, he only moved, throwing himself so that he was looming over his brother, daring him to continue.

"Nothing else makes _sense_ Hunter," Blake explained, desperate, tone aching enough for Hunter to realize that Blake wasn't lashing out for anger, that he didn't enjoy his plight. He only wanted the truth.

This was simply where forcing the puzzle pieces together had left him.

That rocked Hunter for a moment, left him more unsettled than the rest of this conversation had, but he shook it off quickly. He had more important things to do right now than catering to his feelings.

"You know that...Sensei Omino would have figured it out, if they were bad," Hunter explained.

There, that was an undeniable truth. That was something they couldn't argue. Sensei Omino wouldn't have allowed himself to be played, it didn't matter how good their parents could have possibly been at faking it.

"What if he was bad too Hunter?" Blake whispered, hand moving to gingerly circle around one of Hunter's wrists, desperately trying to ground himself. "What if they were all bad, and that's why they picked us?"

_Oh God, oh God, oh God, no- __**why-**_ and thousands of other incoherent waves attacked Hunter at the suggestion, the terrible temptation of giving into his own insecurities, of thinking similar thoughts screaming at him, that he was right, he was right, he was bad and he wasn't _meant_ for something this good-

He forced them down for Blake.

"You know they aren't Blake," Hunter said carefully, shifting so he could hold his brother's hand. "They wouldn't of had morphers then, right? No Power Rangers for bad guys?"

"Then why did they _trust_ him?" Blake countered, not taking refuge in Hunter's comfort.

Blake wasn't easy like that. For him it would have been simpler if the entire Thunder Academy had been corrupted.

Truth be told, Hunter would have accepted that easier too.

"I don't know Blake." Hunter tried to not sound defeated as he shifted again, grabbing his own discarded blankets and curling around his brother.

For once in his stubborn existence, Blake settled into the new arrangement without complaint, leaning against Hunter's side, hand tightening around the blond's fingers.

"I wish Sensei Kanoi had actually killed them," Blake muttered.

By his tone he knew that was selfish, or at least perceived it to be, but Hunter embraced his flaws and couldn't help but echo the sentiment, because if that had been the case their vengeance could have been put to rest by now, and they could figure out a new life goal to persue.

Instead of mentioning this Hunter settled on, "Me too," and patted his brother's hair.

Blake didn't even protest for show.

-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-

"You bastards!" Hunter's throat was long past the point of protesting and answered the action with a painful fire he determinedly ignored. "You...sons of bitches!"

He whirled around, mind searching out new provocations and thankful for Blake's absence. His brother would frown, he would disapprove and ache inside and still he would say nothing, and Hunter would ignore him because he didn't know what else to try. Antagonizing his parents' spirits into making an appearance was not the ideal method of reunion but Hunter was desperate, he didn't have anything else. He'd tried reason, he'd tried just talking, he'd tried _not_ -talking, and meditating, and pleading, and sobbing, but none of it _worked_. They just ignored him like the people did before, and that wasn't fair, that wasn't _right-_

"_Make us proud,"_ they had said. _"We'll always be looking out for you,"_ they had taunted.

Well they weren't _then_ and they weren't _now_ so why couldn't they just man up about it and _tell_ Hunter if the entireness of his childhood, if the family they had created together had been little more than a convenient cover story. If all that _love_ had been a lie.

"I hate you!" he shouted, throat catching. "I hate you, you mother-!"

He stopped, instinctively pulling back from the line he should not cross, guilt from the respect of two memories urging him towards decency, towards the _good_ they had reminded him he was.

The silence that followed mocked him, so he tried again.

"I hate you, you mother-"

And he saw her, straightening his father's tie, and then Blake's and his as she forced them out to a night at the theater to get some "culture", mourning their short attention spans for the ballet and opera and cheering when they found delight in musical theater, because people were speaking normal and the lights and the noise and triumph and _wow-_ were those flying monkeys? And a dancing Jitterbug? And look, the two witches were tap dancing, and that shouldn't be cool but it _was so cool_.

Hunter saw her, and _him_, and it was Christmas and Hunter had only ever gotten random toys from school, the ones they brought for the poor kids were distributed based on the designations "male" and "female". But there he was, and there was Blake, and they had not one, but _tons_ of presents that were just for them, presents that their parents had _asked_ if they had wanted, and Santa had finally found him, after all those times the faceless Misters and Missuses had said that Santa wasn't real.

There were tooths hidden under pillows and first attempts at bike-riding that would be the stuff of legends. There were quiet pats on the shoulder and ruffled hair and hugs that smelled like vanilla and cookies that smelled like cinnamon. There was mom replacing the breaks on the car because dad was helpless with mechanics. There were nightly checks under the bed and in the darkest corners of their closet to keep the Boogieman away, there were bedtime stories read from books that were _theirs_ with the best voices and sound effects a kid could ask for, there was cocoa when it was cold and lemonade when it was hot and wonder and joy and _never_ not-belonging.

There was love.

There _had_ to have been.

"Mom..." Hunter whispered, resting his forehead against the wall of the cave, handful of gem shards clutched in a fist above his head. "...dad."

"Is this what you do in your spare time?"

"Go to hell Shane."

The appropriate response would have been silence, this wasn't an unexpected turn of events, eventually one of the others would have discovered where Hunter decided to spend his free time, it just-

That didn't mean he couldn't resent it.

Shane's tone hadn't been incredulous, he hadn't been judging. He had opted for a neutral voice that offered no condemnation, one that suggested he must have been practicing with Tori earlier because she was the queen of diplomacy in their little unit and Shane was smart enough to learn from that. It was one of the rare occasions he actually put his brain to use.

A small part of Hunter's brain that stubbornly echoed Blake's voice of reasoning reminded Hunter that _not_ hating these people would be helpful in the long run.

Like all the other times the voice had piped up, Hunter told it get lost.

It seemed like Tori's lessons had been put to good use because Shane chose not to rise to the jab, recognizing it to be the defensive assault that it was. He also didn't pry further for an answer to his question, meaning he had been taking _really_ good notes (and possibly took some pointers from Blake, and there would be words on that later), forcing Hunter to continue the conversation.

If the crimson ranger had been feeling particularly vindictive, he would have thrown a wrench into the blue lovebirds plans and given into the desire to knock Shane unconscious and get the hell out of dodge like his entire body was screaming at him for, that the threat was too close, Shane had seen too much, _abort, abort_.

He could. He wanted too.

But he was tired.

Eventually, Hunter took the road he knew they wanted him to take, hoping it would bring him one step closer to the talking to stop. "What do you want Shane?"

Shane shrugged, and _damn_ if it wasn't just like Blake's trying-for-innocent song and dance.

"There's a lot of things I want," he said, like a noncommittal asshole.

"I swear if you follow that up with anything like _"I'd like to know what __**you**__ want,"_ there is no amount of restraint that will keep me from punching you in the neck."

"Wow," Shane deadpanned. "You even sound threatening when you're raspy."

Hunter couldn't tell if it was sarcasm or not. He chose the 'or not' option because it implied Shane was stupider. "Neck," Hunter muttered. "Looking really tempting right now."

"You want me to get to the point?" Shane offered, because the way to get Hunter to comply with something was to piss him off enough to make him want this done _now_, and this conversation would be so much less annoying if Shane hadn't been given Hunter's playbook.

"_I want you to leave,"_ and _"I want you to shut up"_ were the things Hunter wanted to say, but he'd bared himself too much as it was and he couldn't keep doing this anymore. He couldn't let Shane think he was hurting so that the other teen would be stupid enough to do something like humanize him, use this moment of weakness to do something as horrible as trying to _relate_ to him.

Shane was a moron, but he sly enough to realize Hunter's boundaries so he continued, the conversation without waiting for a reply, looking resolute and determined and every inch of that leader he pretended to be.

"I can't say I know how you feel."

"Nope," Hunter agreed, jaw aching from how fiercely he ground his teeth together, despairing in the understatement.

Shane acknowledge his tension with a nod. "But I can say that if my parents had...were dead, that I wouldn't be able to hold it together as well as you."

_Flattery_, Hunter thought bitterly, _gets you everything_.

"-and I don't think I would ever...become okay with it."

"Are you justifying my anger?" Hunter asked, eyes narrowing. "Is it supposed to be _"okay"_ now because you support it?"

Shane kept calm, resolutely, taking care to choose his next words. "I mean to say I understand it."

"Like hell you do," Hunter growled, throwing his pride to the wind for however pitiful it sounded on his abused vocal cords. "You still have your parents, you have your family."

"I know."

"You _don't." _Hunter wanted to scream, wanted to punch that understanding look right off the red ranger's face. "You don't know _anything_."

"I know," Shane repeated, nodding slowly, eyes locked on Hunter's.

They fell into silence. Apparently Shane had said his piece.

So that was it then, they were just supposed to reach an impasse? _That_ was how they decided to end this thing? _That_ would make it all better?

Hunter opened his mouth to dutifully inform Shane how stupid they were, all of them, because that part wreaked of Cam and the rest of it wreaked of Tori and Blake and the idea of "comforting" Hunter wreaked of Dustin because that sap couldn't handle the idea of people staying permanently broken, didn't believe in a scenario where there was no winning.

Shane confirmed Hunter's suspicions when he reached over his shoulder and took off his backpack, shoving one hand carefully into its depths until he pulled out a foil-covered plate, the secrets that it covered given away by the tell-tale smells of baked pastries, gooey chocolate and vanilla extract melded together to form the wonders Dustin called "cookies".

"Dustin baked them," Shane offered redundantly. He didn't elaborate on if they were specially intended for Hunter or it had been a happy coincidence or not, because ultimately, it wouldn't have mattered.

In a way, Hunter felt cheated.

Just...come on, there had to be better ways to end a barely-meaningful heart-to-heart between two people that couldn't really stand each other, couldn't there?

And yet...

It was appropriate. Because these cookies had been baked by Dustin. Dustin, the yellow ranger, who had two parents in name but not in execution, with one constantly traveling and estranged and the other married to her job, a work-a-holic first and mother a distant second. Dustin Brooks, the one person on this team who understood the void of parents better than anyone else in their damn world-saving unit.

Cam didn't count. Cam hadn't known his mother. Dustin knew, had every detail memorized, made every effort to be a better son, and then, when that had failed, a son that wouldn't be too much trouble. Dustin knew loss.

That didn't make him less of an idiot, and it didn't make him a friend, but the demonstration, as clumsy as it was, shook Hunter enough to break him out of his own head.

His parents being friends with traitor shinobi or not, his past a possible lie, his home destroyed and his clan taken hostage...

Those were all things of the past. There wasn't anything to be done for them.

Slowly, Hunter reached under the foil and selected a cookie, feeling the way it mushed between his fingers in that hot, deliciously evil way Dustin made them. One would only lead to another, and then another and another until your stomach could hold no more.

There was danger in that. On becoming that needing, that addicted to something.

But that was probably the point.

You didn't have to like it, you didn't have to make yourself at ease with it, but sometimes in order to move forward, to survive _better, _you needed to sacrifice a part of yourself. For Hunter, it was his wariness of becoming dependent, of needing people again. It was trusting others to actually help, it was in accepting his limitations, it was in knowing that these..._people_, while he was bitterly jealous of their whole, not-ripped apart families, their pasts that didn't hold the possibilities of being a complete farce...these people were his now.

And he was theirs.

He could hate them for that forever, but in the mean time...

He'd take this fill in cookies, and take comfort in people who were actually with him, and would _continue_ to be with him, because he'd be damned if someone else died before he did this time.

He could make that promise.

And he would keep it.

* * *

-:-:-:-:-:-

* * *

Endnotes:

So...this turned out a lot darker than I thought it would be.

Written for my third year anniversary. Three years ago today I posted my very first story on this website. This piece, which attacked my brain out of _nowhere _(still wondering how it got in there, and I'm pretty sure it's the real vampire's fault), is to celebrate that accomplishment.

For those of you who have read my stories since the beginning, thank you. I hope you've enjoyed the ride. For those of you just starting out (most likely because this is literally the first story I've gotten through without throwing in some slash elements), thanks for reading until the end. I hope it entertained.

Honestly, I don't know where this came from. I don't. It sort of snuck up on my brain right before I was going to go to bed and then I had to write it all down. Go figure :)

Notes on the story:

"Home again, home again, jiggetty jig"- Thing my dad says. Seriously, I did not make this up. I think it's from a song. A very old song.

Did the math, and the boys would be about 7-ish when the first team of rangers appeared. To explain Hunter's adoration.

Until next time :D


End file.
